Descriptions for heat levels in book list

------holding hands, perhaps a gentle kiss
♥♥ ---- more kisses but no tongue-- no foreplay
♥♥♥ ---kissing, tongue, caressing, foreplay & pillow talk
♥♥♥♥ --all of above, full sexual experience including climax
♥♥♥♥♥ -all of above including coarser language and sex more frequent

Friday, January 11, 2013

Dreams mingled with reality

At this time of the year, I look for snow globes. We get very little snow where I live and on a practical level, I like it that way as snow gets in the way, means a need for more hay bales, frozen waterers, difficulty in getting to town, power outages, and potential floods when it melts.

That doesn't mean I don't see the romance of such a setting with the snow gently falling-- especially on a cabin where it's cozy inside. Some years back I found a site that would put the snow to your own image. Here are two digital paintings of my dream cabin, the one I have stored in my heart for a someday lifetime which isn't likely to happen in this one.

snowy cabin
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It was thirteen years ago when I was reading one of those self-help books that used to appeal to me back then. It suggested a technique for getting what you want to become reality in your life. The idea was you write your ideal day from waking to sleeping. It could be one day on a perfect vacation, a dream home, whatever it took to make that day ideal. I did it. All these years later, it still sounds good to me.

Today, some of it is in my life, or has been, but that's not the important part for what I wrote as this is more about energy. It is recognizing the energy you want to be part of your life and when you do that, you can move on getting it. That might come in ways you didn't expect because often we get caught up in details and miss the bigger picture of what we are really seeking.

The following was the gist of what I wrote January 17, 2000. In January 2007, I expanded it a bit and created a lot of digital paintings to illustrate parts of it. So here it is (including one of those paintings) as maybe inspiration for how you might write about your own perfect day.


 I wake with the light and lie in bed a few moments as I remember my dream. It was vivid, full of color and life. I was loving a man, feeling his touch, his embrace, his kiss. The dream and reality blend together. Has my lover been with me before in a Western time when he was on the run, and we were having to stay apart because of the danger to both himself and me? Cannot know. I think of whether this could make a book and before I forget, jot down notes for later consideration.

 Rising, I dress in jeans and flannel shirt, thick socks and boots and pull on a winter coat to go outside for a few moments to embrace the morning. The air is crisp and clear. I see my breath in front of my face as I walk down to the barns. They are below the log home and there are two horses inside waiting for flakes of hay. I know the man has been here, but I like to go also.

Stretching my legs, I take off with a quick stride as I walk a couple of miles for exercise. My thoughts are full of plans but also enjoying the quiet of the morning. It feels good to walk along this dirt road, to hear the vast silence, see a little snow on the hills above me, a hawk soaring in the distance against a crystal blue sky.

Back in the house, I make fresh coffee, fix breakfast, click on the computer in the kitchen as I glance at the news, and decide on which of my projects to work. Possibilities are a sculpture, painting and book that is just being etched out. The painting or sculpture would head to a small gallery a few hundred miles away, and the book for a publisher. The work provides enough income to live simply.

This time, I choose the soul painting because my passion is high. I need time with color, light and motion. The dream is still restless within me. I am eager to see my painting take life, to watch it fill the canvas and become a statement about all I am experiencing as I learn more and more about Spirit and how it can fill my days and me with love.

The man returns. He is cold and fills the room with the smell of early morning, of juniper and grass. When he kisses me, I melt into him, feel the oneness I had never known until he came into my life. He sips his coffee, talking as I paint. He doesn’t need to see my work and is full of his own plans. We separate as he goes off for his day and I continue in mine.

A woman, who lives half a mile down the road, drops by and we drink tea and spend an hour discussing the latest problems in the gallery we both use and her own book. Later one of my kids calls and we talk about what is going on with their life. They are doing well and although we don’t live close, we exchange energy, and the love is always there as we give each other the freedom to live our own paths.

 By evening I am ready to start dinner. I cook light Italian, happy to think the man will be back to enjoy it. I pour a small glass of wine and sip as I chop vegetables and saute the chicken. I think how blessed I am to have this life, to be living the dream I only imagined for so many years.

When he returns, we have dinner by candlelight. The house is not large, only two bedrooms and the furniture not fancy but rustic, but the feeling is full of warmth and music. A fire is in the small fireplace and candles light the table. He tells me of what he did during the day, and we talk about the latest political situations. In the evening we sit and listen to music, cuddled in front of the fireplace. That doesn't last long as we stoke fires within ourselves and make love in front of the fire. This man is my soul mate.. He is the one I dreamed of and for this moment I have him with me... If only for the day... 


It's not hard to see how my writing is influenced by not only my life but my dreams. I don't dream big dreams; but small or large, dreams aren't always attainable other than in dreams.  And dreams really are what often give us the energy we need for our daily lives. Some of my dreams come from things I see, books I read. Some out of the ether of life and who knows their source. It is what I am satisfied to call the mystery of life.